#i remembered this little snippet i wrote a while ago

[mediumtires]

Toto is in his office, the distinct sounds of sharing a space with someone dulled by heavy wood, and he’s staring at his bright screen, and somehow his throat has closed up enough for him to clear it, twice. There’s a strangely tight feeling right behind his sternum, in the middle of his chest, one that he can’t quite seem to reach.

short sequel to Growing Pains, from Toto’s POV. 2.6k

Christian has crow’s feet. On the right, it’s eleven deep lines, four of them curving upwards when he smiles, the rest fanning down, and off to the side of his face. Left, it’s seven. A few less, but still just as deep. They pull in his cheeks when he smiles.

Toto loves those lines. He was there when there were only four on the left, six on the right. Deeper though. They were even deeper back then, for some reason.

Toto was also there for the teeth. He was there when Christian started to let his stubble grow, he was there for the first grey hairs that led to a life changing haircut. He was there when Christian quietly started to size up his jeans.

He was there when Christian got appendicitis on New Year’s Eve, was there for food poising more than once, was there for broken toes and bruised fingers when they were renovating the farm. He was there when Christian’s brother got diagnosed with cancer. Was there for the party too, when he was finally cancer free.

What Toto wasn’t there for was Christian winning his first title in eight years. It’s not a secret, he knows, Christian knows. Of course they know; it’s one of the biggest hurdles they ever had to overcome, the fact that he wasn’t there for it.

He’d made his position crystal clear; December 2021, and the months after shaped by the decisions he had made. Toto had his team to worry about that night. Lewis, Valtteri, Bono, Andrew, James, everyone else. Himself. He’d had enough to worry about. He didn’t think about Christian very much that night. Not about his crow’s feet, or the ring on his left hand, or the fact that they were in big big trouble. He’d done it deliberately, knowingly. And he doesn’t regret it. Hasn’t, since, mostly because he can’t allow himself to. He’s regretted many things, the aftermath, the months of fighting. But he doesn’t regret standing up for his team that night.

Only now… Now Toto is in his office at home, behind his big desk, with the door closed, the distinct sounds of sharing a space with someone dulled by heavy wood, and he’s staring at his bright screen, and somehow his throat has closed up enough for him to clear it, twice. There’s a strangely tight feeling right behind his sternum, right in the middle of his chest, one that he can’t quite seem to reach.

There’s a video playing, one that he’s not sure he even clicked on himself, one that he really shouldn’t be watching. What he should be doing is preparing for his meeting with the Petronas people first thing tomorrow morning.

Instead, his eyes follow Christian, champagne soaked, shaky handed, teary eyed, on his way from the pit wall to the garages to the podium back to the garages. He looks—Toto can’t think of the right word for it. He can only think about the look on his face, equal parts mind shattering relief, pure joy and pure devastation, though Toto knows that part is only for him to see. And his crow’s feet. Eleven deep lines accompanying his watery smile.

He looks devastating to Toto. It’s a strange realisation because until now, Abu Dhabi has only ever been painful to think about. And it still is, in most ways. Only now that he’s looking at his husband through a screen, watching him getting celebrated, congratulated, touched by a million other people, Toto is kicking himself that he wasn’t there to see him like this when he had the chance. He never got to see this joy on Christian’s face in real life. Instead, what they did was so much worse, so much more painful.

Toto has trouble swallowing around the knot in his throat. Suddenly he has the stupid urge to put his hand to his computer screen, touch his fingertips to the bright lights and follow the soft lines of Christian’s face, sweaty and champagne wet, teary eyed and grinning so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks. Toto wants that version of him, badly, so badly in fact, that his heart seizes in his chest, thudding hard.

Christian is in the kitchen. He’s making dinner, the dogs at his feet following his every move with big hopeful eyes. Christian doesn’t turn around when Toto comes in, his voice drowned out by the extractor fan as he says, “Dinner’ll be another few.”

Toto couldn’t care less about dinner right now. He stalks up to where Christian is watching over sizzling eggs in a pan, and a second later he’s got him pressed to the counter, licking into his mouth. Christian makes an undignified noise at the back of his throat and the spatula he was holding topples to the floor. Toto doesn’t care. His hands are on Christian’s cheeks, and he can feel his crow’s feet beneath his thumbs. He tastes salt and the tangy sweetness of cherry tomatoes.

Christian presses his palms flat to his chest and pushes. “Hey!” He tries to bring distance between them, and Toto lets him, of course he does, but he still curls himself around Christian’s body, tucks his face into his neck, kisses the leathery skin there too.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Christian’s arms come up around Toto’s back only reluctantly. “I’m going to burn the bloody eggs!”

“Sorry.” Toto should be letting him go. Christian has put effort into making dinner, and Toto respects that. Still, he has a hard time moving away from him.

“What’s—” Christian’s face is one big question mark. “Darling? You alright?”

Toto bends to pick the spatula up from the ground and turns away to give it a quick rinse in the sink. “Ja,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Christian’s expression is critical when he takes the spatula back. He goes back to stirring the eggs, stocky and yellow, then turns the heat down with a flick of his wrist. Toto wants to kiss him so badly. The images of Christian, victorious in Abu Dhabi won’t leave his mind. Nor his chest.

Christian turns back around and this time it’s he who pulls Toto in by the hips, presses their bodies together. He leans in and there’s a kiss to the corner of Toto’s mouth, feathery light. Toto can’t help but wrap himself around Christian again, breathing him in, relieved. “What’s going on?” Christian asks carefully, fingertips dipping beneath the waistline of Toto’s chinos. 

He feels so familiar in Toto’s arms. Toto has so many regrets right now, but he can’t possibly tell him. Not with everything they’ve been through. Not with how hard they’ve worked to come out the other side, he can’t bring it all back up again. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs into Christian’s hair. Eyes closed. He smells familiar too. Toto would recognise him anywhere by this alone, the musky notes of his cologne, a hint of leather from the wristband of his watch, undertones of sweat mixed with laundry detergent. “I just wanted to kiss my husband.”

“Come here then.” This time it’s Christian’s fingers on his jaw pulling their faces close, and then it’s gentle brushes of lips, painfully meaningful, tongues coming together in deep licks, Toto brushing the roof of Christian’s mouth, the back of his teeth, tasting everything. He wants all of it and more, and he’s so mad at himself for everything that happened in 2021. He wishes he could turn back the time, make better decisions, just a couple. Not even to win, it’s not about that. Just. For them. He should’ve done better.

Christian kisses back with the same intensity. One of his hands is on Toto’s cheek, fingertips brushing into his hair, lightly stroking his temple, his cheekbone. His stubble rubs against Toto’s top lip and Toto wants more of it, wants this forever.

 “‘m sorry.”

Christian pulls back, confused. “Mhm?”

Toto wants to kick himself. “Nothing.” He leans in again, but Christian doesn’t let him get away with it.

“What do you mean, you’re sorry? Sorry for what?”

Toto breathes around a deep sigh. He lets his forehead tip to Christian’s but keeps his eyes shut. Breathes him in. So familiar.

“It’s nothing.”

“Toto,” Christian warns.

“I was watching something. That’s all.”

“Porn?”

Toto pulls back with an offended puff of breath and when their eyes meet Christian is laughing. “Darling, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t watching porn in my office, Christian.” He’s genuinely offended Christian would think— “I— Come on.”

A grin spreads over Christian’s face, making his crow’s feet crinkle, fanning deeply up and down the sides. “Whatever you’re doing in there is fine with me, darling. No hard feelings.”

“Just—shut up,” Toto tells him even though his heart is still cracked wide open. He turns away. Walks over to the stove to stir the eggs. They look a little more brown than yellow now.

“Hey.” Christian brushes both of his palms down Toto’s back, then wraps his arms around him from behind to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Sorry. You’re upset. What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Toto sighs softly.

“It’s clearly something. You ambushed me in the kitchen. Something’s up.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Toto. Darling.” Christian’s arms tighten around him, both palms pressed to the softest part of his stomach now, left and right to his navel. He tingles from the inside out.

“I was watching a video about Abu Dhabi.” He admits to it quietly, half of him hoping Christian won’t hear him over the sizzling of the pan. “I don’t even know… It just popped up, it was attached to an email. But I didn’t mean to bring it up again, I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

Christian doesn’t say anything for a few very long seconds. He holds Toto in the same manner as before, his face mushed to the planes of his back, his body warm against Toto’s, over a decade of familiarity to the touch. Then he says, “You said.”

Toto’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring down at the pan.

“You said you were sorry,” Christian clarifies. “For watching the video, or for what happened in Abu Dhabi?”

Toto’s chest smarts, pulls into a tight hard knot. “I don’t think… Let’s not talk about it again.”

“Because you’re uncomfortable?” Christian asks. “Or because you’re afraid I haven’t forgiven you yet?”

Toto doesn’t have an answer. The only thing he knows is that the eggs are burning. Christian doesn’t let him go but now his hold feels like it could crush Toto any second.

“I know you’re sorry,” Christian goes on. “And we’re past Abu Dhabi. Things are okay, yeah?”

Toto swallows hard. “Yes.”

Christian presses another kiss to his back, soothing this time. “Good. So why are you sorry?”

“I—” Christian doesn’t let him go. “I didn’t see you.” Toto’s voice breaks on the last syllable. “That night in Abu Dhabi. I was too concerned with other things, I didn’t watch the podium, I didn’t even leave the garage. So I didn’t know what you looked like that night until just fifteen minutes ago.” Heart in his throat he adds, “And I regret that. Not being there for it. Because you looked—”

Beautiful. Proud. Relieved. Real. Heartbreakingly authentic.

“I could’ve shared that with you, that night, the win, your success, but I didn’t. And I regret that. More than anything I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I—” And now he’s fucking choking up.

“Oh.” Christian moves then, unfreezes and untangles himself from Toto’s back to turn him around by the hips. “Oh, darling, no, come on.”

Toto can’t look at him, but then again, he can’t really look at anything because tears are blurring his vision.

“No, darling, no, come here.” Christian wraps him up in a hug then, pulls him in, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other around his shoulders, and he presses the side of his face to Toto’s neck. “It’s okay. We’re past that.”

Toto doesn’t say anything. It doesn't feel like they’re past it. This is the first time he has allowed himself to cry about any of this in front of Christian. It’s been months, and it doesn’t feel like they’re past it.

“I know you would’ve been there if things had been different. But it was complicated, I know that. I’m not mad.”

“I’m mad,” Toto croaks, and as he says it, he realises it’s true. “I am so mad, Christian. I’m mad I didn’t get to share any of it with you. It was such a significant moment, and I wasn’t there with you. We won’t ever get that back.”

Christian takes a moment. “Okay,” he then says quietly. “Now I understand. I get it. I’m mad too.” Toto stills. “Not at you. At the whole thing, the circumstances leading up to it. It’s no one’s fault. We knew it would be difficult to keep things separate, and in the end, we didn’t manage. That’s okay. And it’s okay to be mad about it.”

“I’m not trying to bring it all back up again, I know we’re past it. It’s in the past.” Toto curls his arms around Christian’s back and pulls him in tighter, noses the side of his face, the imprint of the lines around his eyes. “I just didn’t realise how much I missed out that night. You looked so—”

“What?” Christian probes, curious.

“Sexy,” Toto croaks and there’s a second of silence before Christian breaks out into a loud, husky cackle. 

“Are you— Toto, are crying because you didn’t get to fuck me that night?”

“Maybe.” Toto cracks a small grin and smothers it in Christian’s hair. They both know it’s more than that. But they also know there’s no way they can turn back time. What happened happened. It’s in the past.

“Oh fucking hell. You have no idea how badly I wanted you to be there that night.”

“Ja?”

“Yeah,” Christian says, and then he pulls back and looks Toto in the eyes and says, “Yes, darling. Of course I wanted you to be there with me. I wanted to—Look, I wanted to come and find you too, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. So I get it. I have regrets too.”

Toto has to pull him in again and Christian goes willingly, presses their foreheads together, noses brushing, and kisses Toto once more, deep. “I get it,” he murmurs to his lips. “But we’re okay, yeah?”

“Yes,” Toto agrees. Eyes closed. Christian smells like home. “Next time.”

“We’ll do so much better this year,” Christian agrees. “I’ll even let you spray me with champagne in front of everyone.”

Toto rolls his eyes, a small grin pulling stubbornly at the corners of his mouth. “You will let me, yes? That is very generous of you.”

“I know,” Christian agrees smugly. “You’re allowed to do it in front of everyone, too.”

“If you’re not careful, I will be doing something very different than shower you in champagne in front of everyone, darling.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.”

Toto hates him a little bit, his pleased smirk, the self-satisfaction, the green of his eyes twinkling, daring, his crow’s feet so deep, seven on the left, eleven on the right.

Toto doesn’t stand a chance. Not this season, but more importantly, not tonight either.

[you-til-i-die]

wishin’ I could write my name on it

f.odair x fem!reader

summary: a sneak peak into you and finnick’s lives

warnings/content: I wrote and edited this all in one sitting so if it’s absolute shit that’s why<3 district four victor!r, r is said to have throw up a few times, but none of it is graphic. mentions of blood and sex trafficking, cannon-typical shit really, swearing

song: august - ts

wc: 1.9k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

You and Finnick have one rule.

Don’t talk about it. Don’t ask about it. Don’t acknowledge it.

When the two of you are together, you can just forget about it. You can hang out on the beaches of District Four and pretend like these aren’t your lives.

But they are.

And it always somehow seeps through the cracks.

It’s in the way Finnick’s eyes are dull and empty the first few days after a trip to the capitol.

It’s in the way your laugh has morphed into a short bark.

It’s everywhere and it’s everything.

There’s no escaping it.

It haunts your dreams, it probably haunts Finnick’s too, even though you’d never ask.

Because that’s the rule. No asking. Ever.

————————————————————————

It was August. The sun seemed to slowly be getting the message that fall was getting nearer, the rays a little less intense then they had been a few weeks ago. The water was even the tiniest bit cooler, soothing a stubborn sunburn on your shoulders.

You were laying on the beach, face down on a towel, trying to ignore the stick of salt drying on your skin. You can’t help but let out a yawn, exhausted from the still persistent heat and trying to win against Finnick in a swimming race all day.

You were so relaxed. Focusing on the waves crashing against the shore. And the presence beside you that you knew was Finnick.

You honestly were about to fall asleep before he speaks. He mentions it so casually, he might as well have been asking what you wanted for dinner.

“Snow needs me in the capitol. I’m leaving on Friday.”

His voice is completely flat, devoid from all of its usual humor. It made you nauseous. You consider asking if he feels the same way, but you don’t. That was the rule. And you know the rules.

You push yourself up onto your elbows to get a good look at him, to try and decipher the look on his face. You could almost always read him. You hadn’t spent four years attached to each other to not learn the subtle mannerisms of the other. But this was different. It always was.

You and Finnick could talk about almost anything together. The games, the fear that you could never seem to shake, the nightmares, the way it was sometimes hard to stomach killing even a fish. But you never talk about this.

You never talk about how Snow will whisk one, or sometimes both, of you away whenever he needs a favor. You never tell him how afterwards you have to scrub your entire body raw before you can even begin to feel clean again. You don’t tell him how the first couple of times you would sob until you threw up, but now you just curl up and do your best to avoid the pit in your stomach.

Well, truthfully, you had talked about it once. But never again.

You had just been crowned victor of the 69th Hunger Games, District Four’s second victor in four years. It was no surprise, really. You were seventeen, and one of the oldest in the arena. You were strong, quick, and smart. So, so smart. You had won through pure trickery, and everyone loved you for it.

It’s hard for you to remember what happened the week after you won. There’s little snippets, of course. Looking down at the blood on your hands, blood that wasn’t yours. The booming of a voice in the arena, announcing that you were the victor. You had won. You did it. You had made District Four proud. And then you threw up.

You must have blacked out afterwards, because the next thing you remember is being back in your suite in the training center, sobbing in Finnick’s arms while he held you. Most of what you can remember is centered around him. Gripping onto his hand like a lifeline while your stylists buzzed around you. Glancing over Snow’s shoulder at him while the president crowned you. Watching him standing in the wings of the stage while Ceasar Flickerman went over a highlight reel of your time in the arena. Finding your way back into his arms on the train. You’re pretty sure Finnick didn’t say more than the same couple words the first week. It seemed to be a constant variation of “I know honey, but you’re safe now. I’ve got you sweetheart.”

It wasn’t until your victory tour that he told you. You doubt he ever would have, if he didn’t know for sure it would happen to you.

He had sat you down on the train after a party in District Two and told you everything. How Snow would practically sell him to people. How he didn’t have a say, and how you wouldn’t either, unless you wanted everyone you loved to be dead. He had grabbed your hands, shaking hand in shaking hand, and apologized profusely. He told you how he would do everything possible to keep you safe, he would offer himself instead of you. But you knew that wouldn’t work. Snow gets what Snow wants, and if Snow wants you to fuck his friends for some sick favor, there was nothing you, or Finnick, could do to stop that from happening.

“Oh.”

“Yah.” Was all Finnick said, refusing to meet you gaze as he stared out at the ocean. He’s working one of the muscles in his jaw and you have to look away before you grab his face and do something stupid.

“When will you be back?” You don’t say it, but you’re sure he understands the meaning. Please say it’ll only be one night. Please tell me they won’t put you through it more than once this time. Please tell me you’ll be back to hold me through the nightmares soon. Please don’t make me wait for you more than I already do.

“I’m not sure. Snow said a couple of days.”

No no no no no no no please no.

You didn’t respond. Scared that if you open your mouth the bile collecting in your throat would spill out.

You just look over at him. Take him in. It’s no wonder why the capitol loves him so much. Although not for his humor, his kindness, his strength, the way he’s always looking out for everyone but himself. None of that. Just because he’s a pretty face. But in the bright, golden sun, you find it hard to disagree with them. He’s all broad shoulders and a strong jawline. Bright green eyes that always seem to shine when they look at you. Sharp teeth hiding behind that perfect fucking smile. Salty hair you wanted to run your fingers through. Credit where credit is due, the capitol knows how to pick a sex symbol.

But you don’t see a sex symbol. Not right now. Right now all you see is the person you want to hold on to, and never let go of. The person you’d throw it all away for, if he asked. The person who seemed to always have another layer for you to work your way into, but you’d be damned if you ever stopped trying to get to the root of him.

You’ve been staring for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Finnick notices, of course, because Finnick notices everything.

“Honey?”

You tear your eyes away from where they had been tracing the veins in his hands. “Hm?”

“You ok?” And there it is. That fucking wolf smile. All sharp canines and slightly raised eyebrows because he knows. He knows he’s got you in between his teeth and he knows you’re happy to stay there because it’s him.

You pause, but just for a moment, trying not to give him the satisfaction of winning, of successfully flustering you. But his eyes are boring into yours and it’s so hard to look away from him, but you do. He wins. He normally does.

“‘M just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks. Flopping down on his side, trying to get on eye level with you because it’s never just enough for him to win, he has to make sure you know that he knows it.

You just roll your eyes at him, there’s nothing else you can do.

“About how we’ve been out here since nine in the morning and it’s after noon now, and you haven’t reapplied sunscreen once.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes now.

“I don’t burn, honey, you know that.”

“What about that time you were out all day, didn’t put sunscreen on once, and then I had to rub aloe vera on your back for a week because you burned like hell and all of your skin was peeling off?” You ask, smile working its way onto your face. You know you’ve got him. You’re winning now.

He pauses, he doesn’t back down easily. “It was a fluke. A glitch, even.” He says, trying his best to shrug his shoulders even though he’s lying down. He fails. It looks ridiculous. You have to try not to laugh. “I honestly think the sun just had a vendetta against me that day.”

You’re failing at biting back a smile now. “At least let me get your back because there is literally nothing you could say or do to ever get me to help you with a third degree sunburn again.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just makes a big show of groaning and rolling his eyes at you before rolling onto his back.

You’ve won.

“So dramatic? You know that? It’s like being friends with a child.” You say as you root around in your bag for your sunscreen. Trying to ignore the disgusting feeling you know it will leave on your hands as you squirt it out.

He props himself up on his elbows to look at you, surely about to counter with some story about you being much more dramatic than him, before you shove him back down, face in the sand.

“Ow.”

“You’re fine. A little sand never killed anyone.”

You decide to ignore his grumbling, focusing on spreading the sunscreen on his back. However, you can’t ignore the growing pit in your stomach that you know will be there until Finnick’s back from the capitol.

Still, they can’t take this from you. You’ve earned it. You deserve to be here, definitely not checking out your best friend who you know you can’t have.

You lose yourself for a moment. Letting yourself focus on the way his muscles feel under your hands. Maybe, one day, this could be real. The capitol will find new, attractive victors, and they’ll move on. You and Finnick can fade into the background, and just live.

You pull back, and grab the tube again, squirting it directly on his back. You start to rub it in before pausing for a moment, why not?

Quickly, you write your name in the sunscreen on his back. Snow has cameras everywhere. Maybe he’s watching. Maybe he’s not. But either way, at least for a second, you can say mine. All mine. You can’t take him from me, not really.

He feels it, lifting his head up just as you’re wiping away the evidence.

“Are you drawing on my back?”

You flash him your own smile. A little less wolfish, a little more coy.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

A/n: Hi omg I wrote this in one sitting😭this has just been rattling around in my head for weeks now and I had to get it out lol. Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated, I hope you all enjoyed<3

[drabblesandsnippets]

Snippet #3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Background: Edited scene of something I wrote for a friend

Summary: All Bucky wants is to make his girlfriend’s day better.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Sexual content. Romance/fluff. Praise.

---------------------------

From the second she walks in the door, Bucky can tell things had only gotten worse in the couple of hours since they talked. He knows better than to bombard her with questions, giving her space after they share a brief hello, letting her come to him after she changes into her normal oversized shirt and sweatpants. 

He gives her a warm smile when she reappears, the sight of her never ceasing to make his heart race, even with the messy bun atop her head and the t-shirt that’s seen better days. He loves every single part of her, and his favorite moments are when he gets to see the parts of her that she only shares with him. The vulnerable moments, the small pieces of her that she hides from others, scared of their judgements. She gets to let go of all the masks with him, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he gets to witness.

Bucky can tell all she needs right now is for him to listen, without the need to offer any sort of advice, and he's more than happy to be her sounding board. He actively listens to all the silly frustrations that managed to get under her skin today, the stupid things that made her ready to pull her hair out.

By the time she’s released all the pent up feelings, she’s finally beginning to relax, but Bucky’s still not satisfied. He ignores the old-fashioned part of him that wants her to quit her job, leave all the frustration behind, and be a house wife. He blinks away the brief image of coming home to her wearing nothing but an apron, his cock twitching at the thought, and instead talks her into a massage.

It doesn’t take much convincing. Within moments, she’s laying on their bed, Bucky straddling her legs as he rubs the tension out of her back and shoulders. She loses track of time, allowing him to take care of her, happily letting all other thoughts leave her, only vaguely aware of the almost pornographic noises coming out of her.

Bucky’s far from wanting to complain though. He’s getting to touch her, make her feel better, and listen to her moan - three of his favorite things. He ignores his growing erection for now and keeps his focus on the massage, paying attention to all her sore spots while easing up on the sensitive areas of her back. He smiles at the soft sounds leaving her with each movement of his hands, suddenly feeling grateful to have her trust. 

He slowly works his hands back up to her shoulders, leaning forward slightly as he rubs the tension there, telling her, “Thank you for letting me take care of you.” There’s no need for her to speak, her little noises of appreciation more than enough to satisfy him, his hands never stopping their magical touch. She can barely remember her name at this point, let alone anything else that’s happened today, and that’s exactly how Bucky wants it.

“You’re always taking care of everyone else,” he continues, the palms of his hands moving down the center of her back, letting up on the pressure just a bit. “But, I know it’s hard to let people take care of you, so thank you.” She turns her head slightly to hear him better, but keeps her eyes closed as a slight blush colors her cheeks.

She loves being praised by him, almost as much as Bucky loves praising her, but it still makes her flustered, especially if they’re not in the middle of sex. Sometimes even then too. She can’t see it, but Bucky’s smile grows at her reaction and he changes tactics, his fingertips starting to lightly trace up her back, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“How about you let me keep taking care of you?” he asks, the tenderness of his voice matching his touch, making her heart flutter. Coherent words left her a long time ago, but she still manages to voice her consent. And the moment she does, he leans forward again, his hand sliding up to rub against the back of her neck. “I’m gonna take my time,” he tells her, his breath warm against her ear, “give you everything you need tonight.”

She’s not even sure she responds, other than with a loud moan of need as her hips lift to reach him, his words making her body pulse with pleasure. Bucky’s body reacts to her desire, his own hips grinding against her, letting her feel how hard she makes him. As much as his cock wants him to just push her pants down and take her like this - she’d be more than willing - he’s a man of his word.

With the same measured pace, his hand slips underneath her shirt, the soft touch of his fingers along her waist causing goosebumps to spread across her skin. He undresses her slowly, his lips touching every inch of skin he exposes, whispering words of praise, leaving her panting for more. When he finally turns her over onto her back, he repeats the process, taking his time to pull her sweatpants down her legs, kissing a trail to her ankles.

“I’m so proud to call you mine,” he tells her once he settles back between her legs, his eyes roaming over her flushed body. She watches as his hand reaches down, almost subconsciously, to grab his cock through his jeans, clearly trying to relieve some of the pressure. She wants to tell him he’s too overdressed, that she wants to feel more of him, but all she can do is look up at him, silently pleading for more.

There’s time for teasing, but not tonight. With a quick pull, Bucky removes his shirt and tosses it off the bed, barely giving her a chance to appreciate his body before he’s on her again, meeting her in a passionate kiss. They lose themselves in the intimate connection, their need for each other growing until they finally part and Bucky rests his forehead gently against hers, breathing heavily. “You’re so incredible,” he tells her. “You’re so strong.”

He starts peppering kisses along her skin again, across her jaw before dipping down to her throat. “Intelligent.” His kisses move to her collarbone. “Kind.” With each word, her mind starts to fully relax again, accepting the praise, her body trembling with need. And just before his mouth closes over her nipple, he reminds her, “And the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”

---------------------------

Main Masterlist

[i-cant-sing]

OK POOKIE! i saw my message went thru 🥸

i remember a while ago you were like “look at y/n with all these time period yanderes and little snippet ideas of how they act,,,” AND THEN THE LAST THING OF PART 7 IS Y/N DIDNT LOOK AT THE TIME AND JUST PRESSED THE TIME MACHINE BUTTON ,,, my theory is that ur different-time-periods-yanderes r going to make an appearance in your time traveler AU 😎 if so, ur a genius and I AM ASWELL

Also i like how crazy u made Baldwin. honestly i lowkey forgot he thot y/n was an angel and that he’s actually super smart. idk if u did that on purpose tho cos i was like “oh he’s dumb in love” w/ how you write him but then, offhandly mention how he won a war at 16 or that he genuinely believes y/n has magical powers. like ik he’s smart but i feel like ur smarter with the way you made me forget how smart he is. or i might just be forgetful ,

it kinda makes me sad that y/n didn’t get to say a genuine goodbye to sultan but honestly…she didn’t have the time to. she had to move fast. WHICH, i really liked how fast the ending was. it was BAM we find out he’s crazy. BAM wedding. BAM we run away. BAM we on a cliff. BAM WE JUMP OFF CLIFF cos tbh when u find out the person u love is crazy and has been manipulating everything around since the start u kinda just…roll with the punches until u find a way out.

i liked that Guy died. even if baldwin set up the situations to make it seem like Guy was behind it, Guy still said really infuriating things. Baldwin didn’t tell him to call us hoes. Guy called us a ho3 , that stupid bitch.

This is- this is EXACTLY how I wanted someone to react to my works. Details, reactions, everything. Come here, baby- you're my favourite person now. Let me give u a smooch🫶

There will be different time periods reader will go to now, and I have a few in mind (I am very excited for the two of them, but one more than the other but I can't write that one yet because then the less exciting one will lose its charm but godddd do I wanna rush this to my fav time period). Lol and I made a list of time periods/historical figures that had potential and idk why but I wrote down Columbus but then I looked him up and I was like... nvm.

[hannah-heartstrings]

It's WIP Wednesday Once Again

Tagged by @inkysqueed and @thequeenofthewinter, who I tag back! :D Along with @babyblueetbaemonster @druidx @katastronoot @the-sunlit-earth and anyone who wants to be.

When I posted the year old snow prompt snippet two weeks ago, I said that I originally thought it needed an intro.

I did write one I just never figured out how to get them from point A to point B (just to decide I didn't need to a year later XD) But while looking at the intro again, ideas for how to edit it popped in my head, and the next thing I knew, I had a new ficlet. (Oh writing XD)

So here's the original intro I'm now reworking, and then some notes about my edits below the cut:

            The sky was a white sheet of fog, purple tiled spires standing out against it. Flecks of snow drifted down into the streets.             A gust of wind sent some flecks swirling and blowing down the street across Lecrinn’s face. She laughed a little as she brushed the snow from her brown skin and hair. As she walked, she looked over the snow shimmering in the sunlight. “The snow’s so pretty I almost forget I hate to be cold,” she leaned more into Garrus’s arm.             “Do you want to go in?”             “Not yet.”

I like "snow shimmering in the sunlight" but to me it evokes the image of an empty field of snow, which isn't where they are. XD I think I should describe the town a little more. I remember thinking that when I wrote it, but at the time, writing felt like mental gymnastics, which is why I never finished this. XD

I feel like the back to back sentences about the flecks of snow should be the same paragraph.

I don't know how I only just now noticed that if the sky's that foggy, it isn't sunny. 😅 Gotta go add that to my edits now. XD

While rereading it, I don't know why, but I thought Garrus's dialogue at the end should be "we're almost there" instead, which led me to wonder what "there" was, and the ficlet just went from there. XD

And if it's one or the other, I think the sparkling snow fits the scene better than the sheet of fog.

Which means the fic is getting further and further from actually looking like this snippet. XD

And I can't wait to show it to you guys. It's small but pure sugar, like a Christmas cookie. XD

Now I just gotta finish baking it. 😅

[mpregplease]

Remember how the last thing I wrote wasn't angsty?

Well... This snippet is very angsty so if that's not your cup of tea, don't read it ^^

---------

A cheerful guy who comes home from college looking a little softer than usual… He's on a break, so it's normal to be soft, but his childhood friend notices that it is a lot softer. More body mass, bigger hips, and a little bit of a belly. But he moves so slowly like he's in pain all the time, his cheery attitude has dimmed immensely, and while he tries to be cheery, there is that sad look in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking.

"You look well," The childhood friend says. "A little too well… You been eating alright?"

The college student tries to brush it off with a smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I've been eating fine. Just… Just tired from all the stress, y'know?"

"You've been stress eating?" The childhood friend asks, a little sceptical. It doesn't sound like him…

"Yeah… For months, I guess." He says, this time not smiling. A hand comes down to touch his abdomen, but it's quickly gone again. He looks embarrassed.

"You should see a doctor. It doesn't seem healthy, this weight gain, and you seem a little grey around the gills-"

"It's fine. It'll go away on it's own." The college student cuts him off curtly, then moves to leave, the pain in his body seeming to get worse. He groans out loud, a hand reaching to his abdomen again, holding it there until he can kinda stand upright again.

"Dude, you're in pain! I'm calling an ambulance-" The childhood friends says, but once again the college student cuts him off with an angry outburst.

"Don't you get it?! I just gave birth!"

It shocks the friend into silence. He doesn't know how to continue.

"I was pregnant and gave birth… And then I gave her up for adoption." He says as he ends on a sob. His hands go back down to his abdomen. He's shaking slightly.

"You… Got pregnant? By whom??" But the childhood friend already knows that he was the one who got his friend pregnant because of that one night they spent together 9-ish months ago.

"Doesn't matter. She's gone."

"Gone?" The friend inquires, but the college student just shakes his head.

"I gave her up for adoption. I couldn't care for her, couldn't do anything right… So they suggested that I gave her away."

Just the thought of not being able to see the child he helped create was enough to make the childhood friend angry. "You didn't think to involve me?!"

"You're younger than I am. You wouldn't stand a chance with a baby."

This makes the friend even more angry. "You're not kidding me, are you?"

It's at that moment that the college student takes his friend's hand and movies it to his chest. He can feel that it's fuller, and it might even be leaking a little. Soon the college student's shirt is wet from milk, the college student looking like he's moments away from a heartbreak. Maybe he's already had it.

"I just gave birth 4 days ago. They've been aching all the time since, but I can't give it to her. I can't do anything for her."

He begins to get misty eyed, and soon the breasts isn't the only thing that's spilling over.

"Would you ever let me see her?" The childhood friend finally asks, to which the college students says:

"It's impossible to find her again. She's gone."

He's crying again, this time silently but his breath hitching.

"I will find her. I promise I will."

This only makes the college friend sob even more, but soon he is embraced by his childhood friend who comforts him, whispering the promise in his ear again and again.

The end :3

[thedeviltohisangel]

That cliffhanger!!! Here for the idea that Bucky tries to give Cass his rations and then she sneaks rations back into his food that he thinks he's going insane and then realizes it's her

in relation to this blurb i wrote a little while ago

also continued here

prompt a little different but more or less the same...

The bowl in front of her looked like it was brown water but she hoped it was broth. It was better than the moldy bread they had thrown at her while they'd quarantined her away from the rest of the camp. At least this had a chunk of unidentified protein floating in it. There was retching in the corner as she continued to just stare at it.

"Eat it. You'll need the protein," John ordered as he tucked into his own bowl. Cass knew she was capable of stomaching whatever it was. She just needed to get the first bite out of the way. He chewed slowly as he observed his wife out of the corner of his eye. Her wounds were healing but slowly. There was very little color to her cheeks. Maybe a bit of dried blood in her hair if he looked hard enough. "Eat." This order was pointed at her. He was still only speaking to her in short snippets.

"I will. Just need to convince myself first." With a steadying breath, she brought the hunk of meat to her mouth and nearly swallowed it whole before quickly tipping the bowl down her throat to wash it away.

"Fuck, Cass," Hambone said as he watched in awe.

"That was incredible," Benny echoed with his eye wide in adoration.

"Thank you, gentleman, I-" She looked down where another piece of meat had appeared in her bowl. John was already up and moving to his bed, but she knew where it had come from. She wanted to argue. Force him to eat it knowing he needed it more. He was bigger and had more muscle to power. But he barely wanted to look at her. Let alone speak to her. Let alone hear her voice argue back at him. She ate it quietly. He watched to make sure.

-

John was the last to wake up the next morning, Cass outside watching the boys work and scratching some kind of code into a tree stump. He had wanted to ask her about it but then remembered he wasn't speaking to her. The early morning, when he could watch her out the window with the privacy of an empty room, was the only time he let his guard down. The only time he allowed himself to admire her. Remind himself that he was the luckiest man in the entire world that this beautiful, intelligent, tenacious woman was his wife. That she loved him fiercely right back. So fiercely she would put herself here. So fiercely she desired to spend her last moments with him even if it was in hell.

Dinner was the same. Cass choked her food down in a gulp or two and John slipped a bit of his own when she wasn't looking. He didn't say anything. Neither did she.

the next time mail came, his mood soured infinitely. The letters from Cass shoved in a box under his bed while she watched him with a sad look. He didn't open them but she was grateful he didn't rip them either. It was the unmarked box that had him curious.

"What's that, Bucky?" Crank asked as they all huddled around the table to look at it.

"Dunno. There's no address anywhere on it," he mused as he slid the paper loose and opened it up. Inside where assorted packs of nuts. A container of peanut butter. A small portion of jerky.

All the men were muttering about the mystery package of food. Salivating at the contents. Told John he must have a guardian angel.

"Eat it," came her feminine voice from the back of the room. "You'll need the protein." One look, he allowed himself on look, and he knew she was responsible. Couldn't even imagine what she had offered the guards in return for the goods. Didn't want to ask for fear of knowing the horrible truth.

"Cass," how sweet her name sounded falling from his lips, "this is..." He didn't know what to say. Not after the distance he had forced between them in the name of keeping her safe. She stopped by him on her way to her bunk. Rested a tentative hand on his shoulder and goosebumps erupted across her skin at the contact.

"This only works if we both make it."

[dendrochilums]

little murderbot fic snippet I wrote inspired by the discord a while ago! it appears the cracker wrapper incident from rogue protocol left some lasting damage...

"Oh SecUnit! You're early!"

To be honest, Ratthi hadn't actually expected SecUnit to show up, but he was still pleasantly surprised to see it here. Since Gurathin's apartment on the station was too small for him to host his own birthday party, Ratthi had volunteered his own for the occasion. SecUnit had returned from its latest trip with the Perihelion quite recently, and Ratthi had figured that it would still be working on recharging its limited social battery, and unwilling to subject itself to even the small crowd that would be here. He gestured with an enthusiasm he hoped it would pick up on and said, "Come on in!"

SecUnit didn't reply verbally, but it sent an acknowledging ping to Ratthi's interface as it marched past him, followed by a small flock of its surveillance drones.

"I'm still getting some things ready in the kitchen, but feel free to make yourself at home," he called after it. SecUnit's idea of making itself at home involved more patrolling and hazard assessments than the average person's, but it was nice to see it feel comfortable here, in its own way. Ratthi hoped that the way he had arranged the decorations this time wouldn't get him another written notice about unsafe obstructions to the automated fire suppression system.

He closed the door, making a point to lock it behind him, and followed SecUnit down the hallway and into the kitchen, where he found it standing completely motionless, staring at his sink wearing the most appalled expression he could ever remember seeing on its face.

"SecUnit?" he asked. "...You okay?"

"There's a cracker wrapper in your sink," it said, pointing a finger at the offending wrapper. Its voice was flat, a striking contrast to its face, which now looked like it had when Ratthi told it that the newest season of Sanctuary Moon had been kind of boring.

Ratthi was too afraid to ask what kind of horrible security hazard could be caused by a stray cracker wrapper, but he carefully reached past SecUnit and fished the wrapper out of the sink and put it in the waste bin.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know you were so tidy," he said, flashing a smile towards its shoulder. "I'll get things straightened up before the party starts, don't worry."

SecUnit was apparently too shaken to even acknowledge this. It kept its eyes focused on the now empty sink, which Ratthi quickly checked himself just to make sure there wasn't some insanely poisonous spider or something hiding there. Nope, nothing but some crumbs that he didn't think deserved this kind of horror.

The silence stretched on awkwardly. Ratthi broke it to say, "I'm just gonna--"

"I need to go check the perimeter. I'll be back soon," it interrupted, and it was out of the room before Ratthi could muster more than "Okay?" as a response.

Well, he supposed that everyone had their own eccentricities.

[hypnotisedfireflies]

I miss Lachie! I specifically miss Tess and Lachie, their family friendship warms my heart every time. Would you perhaps consider giving us a snippet of the two of them? Perhaps a late night conversation while they’re camping out on their way towards Jackson? (I’m desperate to hear anything more about their road trip)

(Also will Lachie make any appearances in IO???)

Hi anon! Thank you for your ask (and giving me the chance to pop back into Driftersverse!)

I don't think Lachie will be appearing in IO. I tend to keep the OCs to their respective universes, DD/SQ, IO, Charro, etc. But who knows??

Hope you like this little ficlet. It's set during the events of TLOU while Ellie and Joel are off Ellieing and Joeling and Tess is making the trip across country with Lachie. This is as they begin to reconnect after the Firefly crew has perished, and Lachie is experiencing the earliest trouble with his lungs that later leads to something worse.

Autumn, 2023 Wisconsin.

In Little Hope, Wisconsin, Lachie did something that he hadn’t done in years.

Dear Mum, Dad and Col.

Lachlan Maynard had penned letters on scraps of paper up and down the USA and posted them in every undamaged mailbox he could find.  He was very careful to address them neatly and correctly.  If everything got back on track – one day, eventually – those letters might make their way home.  Somebody had to empty the mailboxes eventually, right?  And when that happened – if, if that happened – then Lachie wanted that chance of some small piece of him finding his way home, even if he was long-dead and nobody remembered his name anymore.

Some time ago – when exactly, who knew – Lachie had stopped.  The hope that those letters might one day find their way across the ocean had not dwindled (however increasingly unlikely it seemed) but there were fewer things to say.  Sometimes, he didn’t really want his family to know what he’d done.  It was increasingly difficult to explain or justify the confusing nature of the Firefly cause, which sometimes seemed so righteous and other times seemed like a poorly organised terrorist chapter. 

There just wasn’t much he wanted to write home about anymore.

But on this bright, golden autumn day in Little Hope, Lachie felt the urge tickling his fingers once again.  He dug around until he found a pencil.  Lachie sharpened it carefully with his smallest knife and lifted the shavings to his nose.  He breathed them in.  Fresh, new pencils!  His cousin, Shannon, had a box of Derwents that she only used for special occasions.  Nobody else was allowed to use them, but sometimes Lachie liked to lift up the tin lid and have a good, long sniff. 

I am in Wisconsin, he wrote.

“Lachlan.”

He looked up.  He was sitting on the bonnet of the truck to soak up the sunshine.  Tess only called him by his full name when she really wanted his attention.  He looked right and saw her standing against the vibrant backdrop of autumn leaves.  Many were still doggedly clinging to their branches like they could outlast winter.  Lachie could feel its cold, deadly little talons digging deeper into every day.  It made him cough in the mornings.

“Everything okay?”  Lachie pined the paper to his thigh with the side of his hand.  The wind buffeted up a little whirlwind of dry, crackling leaves.

“Your … friend,” she said with as much tact as he could expect, “has a much warmer jacket than mine.  I’m gonna take it.  I just wanted to … tell you before I did it.”

“Oh.”

Lachie glanced at the low ditch on the side of the road where Toni lay.   She’d fallen and suffered a terrible gash to her leg the day before, and had died in the back of the truck during the night.  Catastrophic blood loss.  Lachie used to think Toni was all right, but Toni hadn’t liked Tess, and Toni had made it clear – loudly and often – that Tess would be easier to transport with her vitals preserved in jars.  Dev (before he got himself ripped up by two clickers) told Lachie Toni’s prejudice was rooted in fear, and she was convinced Tess would turn eventually.  Some of the others were, too.   Toni also wanted Tess on reduced rations, and she wanted her restrained at all times. 

Tess gained her full freedom when the numbers of their team dwindled so pitifully that they desperately needed the extra, free hands.  Toni mouthed off only once more after that.  Tess decked her with two hard, savage hits, breaking the other woman’s nose.  The others just looked on – Toni had said some shit, after all.  And Lachie grinned as he gathered up some supplies to treat the injury.  He suddenly felt just that little bit safer.

Tess never had held back.

“I’ll help you,” he suggested.

Lachie jammed the paper in his pocket and pencil behind his ear.  He followed Tess to the ditch and helped skin the thick, fleece-lined jacket down Toni’s arms. 

“You want her boots?”

Tess considered it.  “No, they’re too small for me.”

“Let’s take her jumper too, just in case.”

“Jumper,” Tess repeated, grinning at him.

“You know what I mean.”

“What happened to your accent?”

“It has its moments.”

They completed the grisly task of stripping Toni for the last of her worth and then covered her body with leaves.  The ground wasn’t too hard yet.  They could bury her.  But Lachie didn’t see the point in going to that effort.  They needed to conserve their calories.  And Little Hope was a nice enough place in the world to become bird food.  Toni could do worse.

“Guess that makes you two even for the hard time she gave you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tess muttered, shedding her own jacket and dressing in Toni’s.  She emptied the pockets of meaningless trinkets, then turned up the collar.  “Thanks for making that easy.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I know she was your friend so … I’m sorry.”

Lachie squinted as another squall twisted a pile of leaves up into a new dance.  “It doesn’t matter.”

The breeze lifted Tess’s hair.   She had long, silver strands throughout now.  It was still kind of hard for Lachie to believe she was really standing there, really alive.  He’d never had any doubt that she’d made it through the years – if anyone could, it was her – but the fact that their paths had crossed again was a miracle he couldn’t overlook.  It was almost more incredible than her surviving becoming infected, for fuck’s sake.

“We should make camp,” Lachie suggested.  “I reckon we’ve come far enough today.”

Tess was scanning the handful of crumbling old buildings.  This must have been a charming little town, once.  There was next to nothing here, but it had a postcard-selling vibe. 

“You feel up to trying a building or two?”

“Sure.” Lachie shrugged.  “What are we looking for?”

“I want to get you out of the cold, for starters,” Tess said, already pulling out her handgun and checking the load.  “The coughing in the morning’s getting worse.”

“Nah, that’s just – yeah, nah, that’s nothing,” Lachie tried to wave it off.  “That’s just – I had asthma kind of bad when I was a kid and sometimes it acts up a bit, that’s all.”

“Well, the cold can’t be helping.  Let’s find something with a bit more shelter tonight, okay?”

He was kind of stoked that she gave a shit.  Tess had looked out for him when they were in Indy, too.  He was definitely just an afterthought behind Joel and Tommy and Rachel, but the fact that she’d given a damn at all had meant something to him then, and it still did now.  And well – hey.  It was probably just strategy on her part.  Two of them stood a better chance of making it cross country than one alone.  But then she met his gaze and he recognised a softness entirely separate to survival. 

“Okay?” 

Lachie nodded.  “Yeah, okay.”

“Let’s try that one first.”

“You’re the boss.”

Tess, who had already turned away, stiffened.  Lachie looked on ahead.  Had she seen something?  And then Tess snapped the cartridge into place and plowed on ahead to the building.

“Come on, move.”

The town had been abandoned by living, dead and infected for a very, very long time.  The general store had been turned over of absolutely everything of value and there was a single, crumpled human who had perished at some phase of infection.  They were almost skeletal, their body and ragged clothing ruptured by powdery, dry fungal plates. 

At the back of the general store was a room claimed by the sky.  Half the roof was missing.  Tess and Lachie built their fire here, where the smoke could pour up into the air, and the walls around them would provide some warmth against the coming night.  Lachie pulled out two FEDRA-issued dinner ration packs.  The grade was excellent.

“Do you want Butter Chicken or Beef Ragu?”

“Have we got any of the Chicken Italiano left?”

“Nope.”

“Ragu, then.”

They prepared the meal packets in boiling water and ate inside their sleeping bags on two sides of the fire.  Tess had been right.  He felt warmer with the wall against his back, and there was no wind in the old structure, save that which whistled through the cracks.

“You know what really pisses me off about these?”  Tess said, poking around her bag with a fork.

“That they’re better than what ration cards could buy?”

“Yes,” she answered, sounding mildly annoyed that he guessed right. “The shit we used to eat in Boston sometimes, you know?  We knew what they were feeding the soldiers was better than what we got, but this is something else.”

Always we.  We did this, we did that.  Tess couldn’t name Joel, but he was always moving in and out of the conversation. 

“Fireflies didn’t have this stuff most of the time either,” Lachie admitted.  “Think we were eating better than most civilians though, if you were stationed outside the zones, that is.”

“Like you were.”

“Yeah, like I was.  Funny when you think we were only a few miles apart for years.”

Tess didn't respond.

“Anyway,” Lachie continued.  “Fireflies were raiding stuff all the time, but when they got their hands on premium rations like these, they stockpiled them for the big ticket events.”

“Like a cross-country trek?”

“Yeah. Build up the strength, that sort of thing. Speaking of.  We should reach that Firefly supply cache tomorrow, all things going well.”

“White Earth Reservation?”

“Yeah?” Lachie shot her a suspicious glance. “How'd you know that?”

“I've been listening. My ears weren't handcuffed.”

“This is gonna be awkward for awhile, isn't it?”

“Till the day you die, Lachlan.”

He coughed softly and set his meal aside. They'd argued about this many times already:  he'd plead his sorry case and she'd stonily stared him down.

“White Earth Reservation,” he confirmed, pulling out a map.  He held it up to Tess and followed a general route along the top of the country with his finger.  “So we’re … like … hereabouts.  We come up north into Minnesota – avoid Minneapolis, I’ve heard shit from there that’d make your hair curl – and come at the Reservation this way.”

Tess was studying the map with great interest, so he passed it into her custody. “Is anyone stationed there?”

“Supposed to have been deserted for a few years. Unless they sent someone up there from the east, I dunno. Seems unlikely, though. So yeah, nah. We'll scoop in and grab the gear, then go down through the Dakotas.”

“To Salt Lake City?”

Lachie held his breath while he calculated his answer. He sighed and picked up his chicken. That had been the original mission. Evacuate Massachusetts, empty the final Firefly caches cross country and regroup with the dwindling remnants of the cause out west. Deliver the subject - Tess - to Salt Lake City for further study.

There was nothing in that mandate about locating Tommy Miller out in whoop-whoop Wyoming or reuniting the subject with her spiritual husband.

“Maybe after,” Lachie mumbled around a mouthful of rations. “See if that dickhead Tommo’s all right first, maybe.”

“How… how was he last time you saw him?”

“I didn't know there was a problem till he fucked off without saying goodbye. I knew he wasn't happy but … shit, is anybody? You really think he's in trouble?”

“Maybe.”

“This trip was really for Joel, huh? He needed to know what was what.”

“It was for us both,” Tess quietly answered. “I don't know if we ever meant to stay so long.”

“In Boston?”

“We had an apartment,” she continued, eyes on the fire. “Living every day in a fucked up dollhouse for thirteen years.”

“A lifetime.”

“A parody.”

“Why didn't you leave?”

“Go where?”

“I dunno. Tommo said you'd come from some place up in the mountains. South? Could've gone back, tried for it. If anyone could've made it, it was you two.”

Tess shook her head slightly. “Bit past happy endings by then, Lachie.”

“Well,” he finished his meal. “Guess it's a good thing it's now. Hey Tess? Can do shitloads with now.”

“You're still painfully optimistic.”

He laughed a little. Sure. It was easy to have hope in and for other people. The heat was off.

He waited until Tess was asleep before digging out his letter again. He deliberated over the cordial lines and wondered what he could add. So deep in concentration was he that the bottom of the page caught on an ember and smoked. He swore softly and smothered both flame and another coughing fit.

Going to Yellowstone.

He didn't write any more until the following morning. Tess helped him sit up as a more aggressive spate of coughs woke him.

“This is asthma?” She asked, passing a flask of water.

“Woodsmoke doesn't do me any favours,” he managed, rubbing his watery eyes.

Tess didn't seem convinced. She did most of the packing up and loading while Lachie got himself together.

“I'll drive,” Tess announced.

“Yeah, no worries.”

“You ready?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec.”

Lachie looked down at his measly letter. He glanced at Tess, who was circling the truck and checking the tyres.

Catching up with some old mates.

He pushed the letter into a mailbox as Tess turned the ignition over.

[yuri-is-online]

Hi hi! Welcome back! I hope you're doing okay after spending so long on the grind.

So I had a though regarding the Nightmare Before Christmas event. Since its going to be similar to the Stitch summer event, given the huge breadth of the roster for the event, how do you think a spooky confession would go? Because if it happens like the Stitch event where everyone loses their memories after leaving, what would happen after that? (Also, pour one out for Riddle and Azul getting book-napped. AGAIN).

Also, speaking of Riddle, when will his Yutu get his own post? Please don't take this as me demanding a post about the little rabbit. But the snippets can only sustain for so long!

Also also: I'M SO SORRY FOR INDIRECTLY SCARING YOU WITH CASSETTE BEASTS I DIDN'T MEAN TO!

Keep up the good work! Can't wait to see what you come up with next!

-The anon who adores Riddle and Azul

HELOO!!!!!! No worries about the Cassette Beasts scare it's a really good game! I have been having a lot of fun with it! I bought it and Moonstone Island forever ago so when I was thinking about your ask I was like "well why not get my money's worth?" I decided I want to 100% it so that's going on the back burner while I focus on this ask box.

R.i.P. to everyone involved but the confession is so getting forgotten. I could see them remembering it in their dreams, reliving the confession and thinking it some sort of desperate flight of fancy... but then where does Skelly fit into all of this (╹ -╹)? He's twisted from Jack, but Jack is here (in the book) so how and why are the twst guys involved? I guess we shall see once the event starts up.

As for Riddle! Yutu I have a sort of Yutu schedule plan I intend to stick to so you'll have to wait a bit sadly. The plan is Jamil! Yutu (i didn't like what I wrote and had to re-do some stuff, but he's back on track to be posted pretty soon), then Vil! Yutu, and I think it's just Jack and Sebek after that. Once those are done it is back to baby Rosehearts... who I have some other asks about I might use as warm ups in the meantime. But I have a few other posts I want to work my way through first before I even post Vil's part (* ´ ﹃｀*)

I hope you're doing well too anon!

[canon-in-too-deep]

End of a Series, and Deleted Dinner With Gortash Scene

After over 75k words, I closed out the last part of my Don't Forget You Love Me series on AO3 yesterday. It's a light hearted Baldur's Gate 3 fic starring Gortash x Tav that started out as a rom com and ended with family fluff. The final chapter was a small scene for the sequel The Fluffy Raccon (a fluffy one shot collection after the main story ends), and I just had so so much fun with these characters, I wanted to make a post here to mark a personal milestone. 🦝🦝🦝 The last year, I've gotten back into fandom, which led me back to writing, and writing has led me to typesetting...and it's been a helluva time! I'm having a blast sharing everything I've made in my hyper fixated frenzies, and have loved getting to focus my passion on all these projects. So thank you to everyone who's stopped by to smell the pixels! The first chapter of my Gortav fic can be found here. Below the break is a deleted scene from Don't Forget You Love Me that I wrote for Chapter 3 that I ended up scrapping and rewriting. I found it in my old notes folder, and decided to let it get some sunlight here. I have some more Gortav (Tavtash?) deleted scenes and snippets cluttering up my google docs. If I get time or if there's interest, I might post them here as well. Also if you're just here for free typesets I'm working on more of those too!

Scene: Tav has amnesia. Tav has forgotten that she is married to Gortash. Tav has dinner with Gortash. Tav glared at Gortash from across the dining table.  So what if all the healers and clerics in the city had come to the archduke’s residence and spent days fussing over her, before declaring that her memories of the last fourteen months were assuredly gone?  So what if all the politicians and lords of the Upper City bowed to her and sent her get well missives, all while bemoaning the poor health of their dear archduchess?  So what if even her friends—those that she could get a hold of, anyway—told her themselves that the Elder Brain had long ago been dealt with and her pact with Gortash had been expanded to involve marriage? She still wanted to kill him. “Dearest, at least eat something whilst you glower at me,” Gortash said, not even looking up as he sliced through a cut of meat with a silver blade. “Maybe it’s poisoned,” Tav suggested.  “Maybe that’s how you got me to marry you.  Maybe you doused my food with some kind of love potion, and—” “Enough.”  Gortash spoke sharply, and set down his utensils.  He cleared his throat, and braced both hands against the table.  “If you insinuate such things again, I may lose my patience.” “And what, you’ll show your true colors as a monster?” she said, crossing her arms. “And I just might take more drastic measures to jog your memory,” he said, lowering his voice. Tav’s brow furrowed.  “Like what?  What the fuck are you talking about—” Gortash got up, his chair scraping against the floor as he left his spot at the head of the table to stride over towards where she’d positioned herself farthest from him.

Tav gripped the arms of her chair, staring up with open irritation at the archduke now towering over her.  His dark gaze swept across her features, before settling on her own eyes.

“Perhaps you might remember something more…engaging of the senses,” he mused, his voice dangerously low to Tav’s ears.

“What are you—”

Her words caught in her throat, as a large hand came up to caress her cheek, stroking down with calloused fingers, to end with a delicate hold of her chin.

“The first time, we had dinner together, you refused to eat less there be poison in the food.  Of course, I offered to feed you by hand, but you were such a stubborn little thing…”  His thumb came up to trace her bottom lip.

Tav slapped him and snarled.  “Bastard!”  She got up and stormed off.

Gortash, unperturbed, nursed his reddening cheek, and said aloud to himself, “Ah…she did the same thing the first time, too…”

[abcwordsurge]

what old work[s] you've made is your favorite and why? and now what's your most favorite recent work? smile. i love ur writing i wanna hear u talk abt ittt!!

:D hi marley

this took a bit because I had to go through all my stuff and, like, make a tournament out of it, but here I am! with answers!

for old works, I've gotta go with "October 15th" (link here). it's a fic with little snippets from an average day in the statehouse. a pretty healthy mix of fluff and angst and humor. I remember writing this and just grinning to myself, like, "yeah, I'm so clever, this is so neat." it was one of the very first fics I posted in this fandom, way back in October (shocking /s). wow, wait, is that over half a year ago? huh. it feels like I haven't been in this fandom for that long. well, I'm glad to be here!

honorary mention: "Something That Matters" (link here), two connected wiscowa (wisconsin / iowa) drabbles. posted even earlier than "October 15th," and was far shorter and simpler. this one is just a lil thing and it makes me happy no matter how many times I reread it

outside of fandom, I'd go with "Bigger Than Jesus" (link here), about Big Time Rush (yes, that kids show boy band), and carlos and logan's opinions on the Beatles. I thought that was comedic GOLD. still makes me giggle rereading it

as for recent fics, I'll say "The Five Nonsenses" (link here). it's a queerplatonic floui fic, and this is perhaps the first time that I felt totally confident while writing a fic about a qpr. I've never been in a qpr (despite my best efforts /hj), but after writing this, I just knew that this is the sort of thing I should write when writing queerplatonic fics. I dunno, I just feel like I've cracked the code or something like that. I'm pretty proud of this one

this ask makes me so happy. usually when I reread something I wrote, it's because I'm looking for things I need to fix in it, but in order to give you an answer, I had to look for things I like. it improved my mood quite a bit. thank you <3

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/11/23, timezone change edition

the last time i wrote one of these things, i was not quite fully packed up in ma. now, i am technically temporarily homeless in houston, bc the apartment i originally signed on was completely unlivable. crashing in an acquaintance's guest room for a bit while i have a very bad time with apartment hunting round 2

i have lived in south florida, staten island, and various shithole student housing. i understand seasonal bugs in hot places and things such as different kinds of roaches and palmetto bugs. when i say that apartment had the worst roach infestation i've ever seen i fucking mean it. in theory i will get my full deposits back, but they're taking their sweet fucking time about it.

but having that full yes-i-know-about-seasonal-roaches conversation with new acquaintances and leasing agents takes too long so i've resorted to saying it had a horrific bedbug problem, which everyone seems to go Oh Okay Yeah Reasonable For You To Leave much more quickly.

listening

a lot of early aughts dance pop standards, to chase away the agonies as i drive to and from apartments only to get ghosted, find they were rented a week ago, or find that they look absolutely nothing like the pictures. i was really torn on which britney song to pick for this week until my sister sent me Twin Flame by Maude Latour, which i can only describe as "douchebag get the girl back song but for lesbians". spotify

also how do we like the "featured link from bandcamp or soundcloud with additional spotify link" format? in an ideal world i would buy all my music directly from the artists but realistically i use spotify 90% of the time. i don't know what your life is like, tell me if this is helpful or not.

-

reading

my best friend made sad faces at me until i read The Flatshare by Beth O'Leary, and it was a little nice to see someone else's dire housing situation get resolved neatly and with thematic consistence in several hundred pages. it was also nice to text her snippets with "WHAT?????" every so often. this is a reading experience i don't have very often bc our current reading tastes don't overlap even a little bit.

i don't have much to say about it bc i didn't have particularly strong feelings and don't really read mainstream straight romance, so i can't point out what this did differently or well compared to its peers. if nothing else, it was a fluffy bit of distraction, and i think that's kind of the point?

(image from Tor) also read Saad Z. Hossein's Kundo Wakes Up novella in a waffle house while eating some of the best scrambled eggs i've ever had in my life.

this novella was the closest thing i've ever read to "aging English professor has an affair" without actually containing any of those elements. generally i enjoy his work, but this was sort of a way to check up and tie off many characters from previous works with a sort of light frosting of "my wife left me and i don't know why [ rot13:v pna znxr fbzr thrffrf ohg gurer vf ab zbzrag bs frys-ernyvmngvba, bapr ur svaqf uvf jvsr ur whfg perrcf ba ure sebz nsne naq nsgre qrgrezvavat fur'f abg jvgu nalbar arj znxrf gur gerzraqbhf fnpevsvpvny qrpvfvba gb yrnir ure nybar op fur'f zhpu unccvre jvgubhg uvz. gurer vf ab zbzrag bs frys-ernyvmngvba nobhg jul fur zvtug unir yrsg uvz. xhaqb arire trgf bhg bs uvf bja shpxvat urnq bapr.]"

while The Gurkha and the Lord of Thursday novella (TREMENDOUS) and Cyber Mage book (fun but with some dire pacing issues) are fairly standalone, i cannot imagine you'd get much out of Kundo Wakes Up if you haven't read the other two. for some reason none of the libraries i have access to have his other book Djinn City, so we'll have to procure that elsewhere.

-

watching

the dnd movie, the day after i broke my lease on the roach apartment. i don't remember a ton about this movie. do generally like a heist. michelle rodriguez was hot

-

playing

genshin. listen. it is a free and familiar way to turn my brain off by doing open world exploration and puzzles but CRUCIALLY! most of it is completely new to me. i have not played this game in a year and a half. i have not played this game since right before enkanomiya. there was no chasm. there was no Sumeru. i have absolutely no idea what’s happening lore-wise.

i pulled for the fancy ice claymore lady and got a catboy archer (at least i think it is a catboy? the ears do give a pharaoh hound vibe... he is distinct from the extant dogboy archer). not terrible but not my vibe.

i have been enjoying the shit out of the temporary summer event carnival space. they really did pull out several stops by introducing a ton of genuinely interesting and innovating little new mechanics and mini games. delightful!

-

making

altering the worst shorts ive ever seeeeeeeeen with a demure little two-inch side slit on both legs bc my thighs simply will not quit. mens shorts are so much better than womens shorts in nearly every way except for the catastrophic physical fit issues.

when i got ghosted by two different apartments on saturday i bought myself a spoon ring so chunky it makes my other chunky rings look positively delicate by comparison. not very comfy to drive in but fine to wear while tippy tappying on the spreadsheets

a girl i saw for one singular awful date in 2016 called my hands "coarse but honest" and i think about that every time my hands are in a photo. what did that even fucking MEAN, [REDACTED]?

[ssjumi]

It's been literally 20 years since I wrote the YGO fic that to some regard still defines how I view my favorite OC babygirl Aileen to this day 💕✨

So this is a gift for teenage me, who would've probably pretended to be too cool to care, but would have absolutely lost her shit seeing our girl in the style of the show (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

For those curious, here's a little (updated) character profile of Aileen:

Aileen Noda

18yo (half a year older than Seto, so a class ahead of him)

🇯🇵 (dad), 🇮🇹 (mom)

her dad got sole custody after her parents (never married) split; she's not close to her mom but they're on friendly speaking terms

—

heiress to a multimillion dollar software company that was in business negotiations with the Kaiba Corporation at some point when it was still headed by Gozaburo

moved around a lot as a kid before spending her tweens and most of her teenage years in South England, when business took them there

fluent in English and Japanese (although a bit rusty when it comes to not sounding too direct/impolite with latter) - had one year of German and almost three years of Mandarin before moving schools - knows just enough Italian to survive as a casual tourist

not rly interested in daddy's business at the time/shortly before our story, but figures she still has many years to live her own life and find her passions before she has to step up anyway

(spoiler alert: nope, she does not)

—

has a driver's license and drives just well enough to not get it revoked but not so well that it's a joy to sit next to her

pretty pragmatic with a dry humor

comes off as very confident and independent

loses her dad tho shortly after they've moved to Domino and went into new negotiations with the KC, which rly fucks her up since she hasn't made any friends there yet and her dad was basically her entire support system, which she never realized until he was gone

develops a socially encouraged kind of unhealthy relationship to food and working out, which is not helped by the smaller sizes considered standard in Japan

—

for some reason falls for Seto Kaiba of all people and even ends up with him unaware that she could do a lot better but alas, who am i to tell my daughter No

A while ago I gave rewriting the earlier mentioned fanfic a try, but since YGO isn't my active main fandom anymore, I'll probably never finish it and if I do, it will have a very different format than the original story.

But since we're already in Long As Fuck Read More territory, I've included the prologue and another tiny snippet here, for those who are curious:

Surprising as it may seem, given how his face is plastered all over the city they live in, Yugi and his friends don't really think much about Seto Kaiba in their everyday lives.

They're doing their thing and he does his. … Whatever his thing is.

Building theme parks probably? Yugi remembers him mentioning something like this the last time they spoke but he's not sure anymore. The fact that Kaiba's been gracing class with his presence for the past few days probably means that things are going well enough for him to have the spare time. Although he's spending most of that time on his laptop anyway, not participating in class at all and left alone by the teachers as well.

No, really. Neither Yugi nor his friends know what Kaiba's thing actually is.

So they're a little surprised when after class, during cleaning duty, a girl in another school's uniform slips through the door and makes a beeline for the desk in the far corner of the room where Kaiba, true to his famous team spirit, is still fully focused on his personal work instead of helping his classmates.

One of her long, black pigtails slips over her shoulder as she snatches a glance at his laptop screen. To which Kaiba just reacts by closing said laptop and shoving it into his schoolbag. Which in turn puts a slightly too sweet, almost teasing smile onto her lips. "Want me to give you a ride home?" He sighs and mumbles something that sounds a lot like "There are worse ways to die, I guess" before getting up and following her outside.

It finally becomes apparent why a few of the guys in the class have spent the past couple minutes at the window - the car Kaiba follows that stranger to is a red Porsche cabriolet that looks like right out of a Hollywood movie.

Jounouchi doesn't know what to be more scandalized about - that Kaiba of all people is getting picked up by a cute girl while he doesn't or that some of his female classmates seem completely unimpressed by all of this because "everyone knows he has a girlfriend, duh". He and his friends exchange confused glances.

Seto Kaiba is weird in occasionally dangerous but usually just a little annoying ways and overall just not that interesting. And, as far as they're aware, he's also completely uninterested in making friends or even just understanding the basic concept of friendship - or interpersonal relationships in general.

And yet.

Seto Kaiba has a girlfriend.

If you're still here: Congrats! You earned yourself the secret knowledge that this fic by the way isn't just Seto/OC but also YamiYugi/Seto, as in: Seto is gonna cheat on her with Atem, as soon as he finds out that he can not just play intense card games with the guy but also have sex with him - which never even occured to him until he already had Ati's hand between his legs.

Aileen will break up with him over it.

In the timeline of the original fic from 20 years ago they did end up back together and even marrying though and it wasn't even too bad for a while but became a very unhappy relationship over time, during which she fell for (and had one passionate night with) Seto's assistant Isono. She got pregnant from him and Seto is kind of aware that it is likely not his child and she knows that he probably knows... while Isono tries very hard to tell himself that this kid surely can't be his, nope, no evidence of this one night means it never happened and he never wavered in his loyalty to his Kaiba-sama, it's fine, he's fine, they're all fine.

(It's still mostly him raising the child since Aileen soon realizes she has no idea where exactly to fit a child into her life and Seto... to his credit did manage to not have Mokuba die on him while responsible for him in his teen years, but if we're all honest here that was not by virtue of him being a responsible and trustworthy parental figure.)

I haven't made up my mind yet if Aileen and Seto would also end up married in/after the rewritten fic tho.

Who knows.

Not me.

... Ah, yeah, and I also ship her with Ryou Bakura's dead sister Amane :D so there's that as well.

Anyway.

YAY @ drawing of her I'm very very very satisfied with （￣︶￣）✨💖

[m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s]

so I wrote something :)

for the first time in forever, I wrote something, and it’s about this one AU I’ve had in my head forever, so here it is.

I hope you enjoy, and instead of my taglist, I’m just gonna tag some peeps I think would like to read it (my taglist is so outdated fr)

—

Word Count: 886 words

Warnings: mentions of death, angst and fluff mixed together, mentions of past trauma (not detailed, but mentioned)

Genre: Angst, fluff, comfort

Notes: This relates to snippet #12 on the “That One AU” master post, you don’t have to read it, but it gives more context. This is also an OC within Marvel I’ve created (V), so when I say “that one AU”, this is the general idea I mean :)

—

chronicle I - tissues

—

“I’ll stay.”

V had meant it when she said it, even if that had been 3 days ago.

Sick super soldiers were nothing to mess with.

Snotty tissues, those rattling coughs, the fitful rest. Nothing about it was pleasant, sickness was just that.

Yet V remembered that night he had taken her in, when the nightmares tantalized themselves into shadow figures on the walls. One’s that followed her, slithered up the walls, snakes ready to dip their fangs into their prey.

V was prey that night.

She would have been eaten, venom injected, poison filling veins until nothing was left but a rotting carcass, and memories of all the blood spilt by her hand.

James Bucky had saved her that night.

In his room, with that soft sage green lamp, nothing could hurt her there.

V was indebted to him, whether he knew it or not.

So taking care of a sick super soldier?

That was just a simple token, a small step in the debt she felt she owed him.

“You know you don’t have to take care of me, right?”

In the days V had taken care of the super soldier, she’d cleaned up the mess of tissues, helped him become more comfortable, given him medicine, even gone as far as making him stew today.

She shrugged as she carefully set up the little table on his bed, where he was laying now. Better looking than he had in the previous days, but still grasped by the vices of the cold he had.

“I know. But I want to.”

He smiled.

He did that a lot when she was around.

It was almost like a different smile, one only she was privy to see.

V didn’t dwell on it.

“What’s this?”

She had talked to him more than she ever had.

She thought at first, it would be strange. To be so silent, only to speak in large amounts while taking care of him. While she would have preferred to stay in the silence of her world, she knew it would be unavoidable to speak while taking care of him.

She was also finding she didn’t mind it so much.

“Chicken stew. Jarvis helped me with the recipe.”

She had no clue what she was doing in the kitchen, and thank god that billionaire genius had the technology to help her.

“Chicken stew?”

A blank stare met his eyes, tender movements as she set it on the table.

She didn’t understand.

“Chicken stew is my favorite. My mom used to make it all the time, back when…”

There was that strange understanding they both had. Lives lived, but somehow forgotten, through the torment and tragedy of memories stolen and traded. Lives where choices were made for the two of them, where things called blenders still stung to the core, and always fearing the cold would catch up eventually.

“I didn’t know that.”

He smiled.

Again.

“Just makes it all the more better.”

She helped to prop him up, fluffing pillows behind him, allowing him to sit up.

Then the silence.

Sips of stew, soft breaths, no cold.

She didn’t smile, she didn’t know how to truly do it.

But taking care of this sick super soldier, watching as he sipped the stew that had almost burned down the entire building because it had been so long since she’d cooked?

Something within her made her want to smile.

She just-

“My favorite color is green.”

She looked up to him, the tissues covering the ground losing her attention.

They weren’t that interesting anyway.

“I couldn’t tell.”

That was one thing she had learned about the super soldier in the days she had come to be his caretaker.

Green.

Everywhere.

Bedding that was green, and various articles of clothing that were green, even a few plants by the window that were, albeit between life and death, still green.

She didn’t understand.

“Why?”

He knew she wasn’t asking why his favorite color was green.

“Maybe I want to know yours.”

He wanted to see if it was still the same, just as it had always been.

Even if she didn’t remember everything else with it.

V hadn’t really thought of a favorite color.

Though for some reason she knew the answer when his statement, his curiosity, was made known.

“Poppy-”

“Poppy red.”

She stared at him.

How had he known?

A clearing of a throat, her stare more curious.

He should have held his tongue.

“I noticed you wear red a lot. I thought, well I guess I just- researched the type of red you wear. I guess.”

The tissues littering the floor were interesting suddenly.

He hadn’t meant to say it.

He knew he shouldn’t push it, shouldn’t push the boundaries of the memories and hopes and dreams he held.

Bucky knew he had stepped too far, the distance growing, gro w ing, gr o w i n g-

“So what’s with you and green?”

It was his turn to blank stare.

Tissues once again abandoned.

“I have to research now.”

Bucky wasn’t sure, he was bad at reading her, time passed too far and too soon.

He was fairly sure there was a hint, a small peek at a smile.

The distance was closed.

A strange softness settled between the two.

The tissues could wait.

—

some peeps I think who would like this: @hellothere-generalangsty @eyecandyeoz @monako-jinn-stories @rainydaydream-gal18 @emperor-palpaminty @ahsokasleftbicep @chaoticvampirejedi

[bromcommie]

Hello & Happy Monday!

So...for the WIP tag game...I know I'm supposed to pick the one (1! ONE!) that I find most intriguing, but this is like a whole buffet of intrigue, so maybe I can have two? 👀 1) НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT) <- ngl, the 'figure out' cracked me up. Also, late night conversations? Yes, please!

2) what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 <- this just sounds fun...and possibly like the title could be deliberately misleading

Thank you! <3

Hello helloo, happy Monday to you too! (but also Tuesday now I guess. It's a 2-for-1!)

Thank you for the ask, and thank you for indulging me with two (2! it's gonna be so long!) <3

НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT!!!) - Ooof, this fucking guy. I'm glad my stern instructions to myself in the title there were funny, because I do indeed need to FIGURE this one OUT and it's bugging me. It's essentially another chapter that's a part of a larger work (not naming names not pointing fingers but it's. The Work I'm Having Trouble Updating) and it was written a looong while back, which is why it's now a standalone file. I love the premise but I kinda want to tear it down and rebuild it entirely, mostly because I'm still deciding on whether I like the way I wrote the backstory for it. So. It's fun! It's challenging! It's giving me a migraine! The title's from this song about a tired traveler trying to find his way in the night. It's three conversations (Steve+Nat, Nat+Bucky and Bucky+Steve - although they barely talk at all) that happen in the night after a very not lucid, injured Don't-Call-Me-Bucky who's recently remembered the Red Room and also had a pretty rattling encounter with the code words seeks Natasha out in Europe for [redacted] something as a last resort, but instead accidentally walks straight into Steve who he's been staying away from like the Devil Himself since CATWS. And then basically bleeds all over him. (I am not immune to the wound care trope! However, this is unfortunately not that.) A lot of ugly feelings and defense mechanisms are brought up, some painful memories re: the war and the Red Room are brought up, and nobody's having a good time or really knows how to process jack shit. They all communicate/perceive love&protection in wildly different ways, and while all three dynamics end on some kind of natural conclusion it's still a lot of unfinished, unspoken business and just kind of sad. Hurt no comfort that's necessary for there to be the promise of comfort in the future, if you will. Tbh, I really want to finish/reincorporate this one. But it's just so *screams into paper bag*. Anyway. Snippet:

When Steve wakes up the next morning Bucky’s gone, like he knew he would be. Like a hurricane passing through, the foreknowledge doesn’t make the aftermath any easier. And then what? his own voice from so long ago echoes in his head as he waits for the water for Natasha’s tea to boil in the sunny little kitchenette of the motel’s lobby. 16 hours later, he’s watching the blinding stripe of the sun setting over the East River before the plane maneuvers onto the landing strip at JFK. The hell else? Then we march on, ace. We go home.

2. what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 - oh good, thank god! So this one is a bit more fun, but it's only got a few disjointed half-scenes so far. The title is actually one of the most literal ones on the list - the fic does take place in Astoria, Queens, and it does involves a certain "nutcase". Several, even. They really don't get along, and then they almost do.

(Blame my recent rewatch of the Netflix shows for this one. Man. What a golden age that was.)

Excerpt under the cut:

It was easy to clock the combat training before, sure, but up close this guy’s… Keyed up. Wild-eyed, a little, and not in the twitchy way of the three idiots piled up outside by the ruined water hydrant, not just sheer adrenaline stoked by fear and booze and coke. More dialed-in, purposefully ruthless. Hungry. Getting up with an expression like an enraged bull in spite of the beating he just took. Nutcase, Barnes thinks bleakly. Not that he’s in any position to judge — glass houses, all that, but — “What’re you,” he croaks, “some kind of psycho?” “Says the guy who just mowed down six guys without blinking." The man spits, grimacing at the blood that lands on the stark white of the rooftop like it personally offends him. If he notices the similar spray across his busted face, his clothes, his military-short hair, he doesn't seem to give a damn. "Nice going, by the way— my man got away." "And my man's bleeding out on a fucking pool table downstairs," he grits out. He doesn't have time for this. This whole night has been one giant exercise in unpredictability, and the police sirens echoing off in the distance are problem enough without him having to duke it out over and over with some local homicidal moron who might or might not be HYDRA. "You wanna tell me what that's about?" The man levels an irritated look back at him and then shrugs, dismissive. "I don't play with my food." "Your food had intel I've been hunting for two weeks." "Tough shit. Maybe if you hadn't screwed up your goddamn trig—" His lip curls of its own volition, affronted despite himself. What an appropriate time for his ego to announce it's back from the dead and in the mix. How fun. “The hell I did. I don’t miss.” "Is that right? There's some real screwed up drywall down there that says otherwise." His voice picks up an edge of something dangerous, aiming for threatening and landing on feral as he takes a step closer, and Jesus, can he stay down already? "Unless you did it on purpose to let him know I'm coming because you work for the bastard, in which case lemme tell you, you and me have a whole different problem." "I don't work for anybody," he says, probably with more intensity than strictly necessary. "He was a civillian. I don't kill civillians." The words curl acerbic on his tongue. He doesn't. He doesn't. That, of all things, makes the man laugh, a bitter little thing that sounds like it clawed its way out of his throat, and only barely. Who the fuck is this guy. "Oh Jesus Christ, not this bullshit again— how many of you assholes are running around this place, huh?" he says, gesturing a little wildly at him. "You got a fancy catsuit under that hobo getup, too?" It's Barnes' turn to look at him like he's a few marbles short, which judging by all evidence he very well might be. The guy snorts at his confusion, shaking his head. "If you consider that criminal piece of dog shit a civilian, you’re way more out of your depth than I thought, kid.”

but also:

“Self-righteous, God's sacrificial lamb type-of-shit," he mumbles around the mouthful with distaste, staring off across the bridge. "Got himself a stupid fucking title and everything, if you can believe that. Major pain in my ass.” Barnes hums, considering, before taking a cautious bite of his own sandwich. The thick pile of fatty meat and melted cheese breaks apart in his mouth easy with a sudden, almost overwhelming explosion of flavours, his empty stomach singing praises despite the ache in his bruised jaw as he chews. He never thought he’d say this, but god bless Queens. “Catholic?” Castle grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, I have some experience with that.”